


Monsieur Pas Touche

by Dolceael



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Fic will diverge greatly from au source in later chapters, Impact Play, Kink shaming Jonathan Sims, M/M, Miss Pas Touche AU, Multi, Murder Mystery I guess, Sex Work, Sex Worker Jonathan Sims, Sex Worker Martin Blackwood, Sex Worker Tim Stoker, first fic, like 1 for 1 Au of the first 30 pages of Miss Pas Touche, very Ace Jonathan Sims
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolceael/pseuds/Dolceael
Summary: Jonathan Sims lost everything in a fire, his boss, his library, and any ties staving off his innate paranoia. So when no one else will help him uncover the truth around the mysterious Jonah, he will simply have enact justice himself. By going undercover at his only lead, a brothel.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Everyone, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Monsieur Pas Touche

**Author's Note:**

> The works this is based on are French and English, and I'm American and wish to apologize ahead of time.   
> Critiques are very much welcome, and if anyone is interested in beta-ing please let me know!

Jonathan Sims gripped his small suitcase with white knuckles, as if to prevent it from slipping away in the rain.   
His dark hair gripped his face and neck, drenched from the heavy storm. John felt like a wet rat, less than a week ago he was a reputable librarian. Before his boss had been murdered, the library set aflame, and everyone assumed him paranoid, if not mad. The police even threatened to lock him up if he was to March into their office again raving about their incompetence. Gertrude surely had no reason to commit insurance fraud, and even less to shoot herself and leave the body in the flames with no one to collect or recover such funds, save for a single establishment.   
Now he looked up at a brothel as a haven. What evidence John was able to scrape up led him here. Old bank notes, scraps of paperwork only mildly scorched from the fire, and some mail he was able to pick out of Gertrude's mailbox without anyone noticing frequently mentioned The Magnus. John never took Gertrude for the type to… indulge in such desires. But then again he didn’t bother to know her well outside of work. Even one letter walked a line between familiarity and threatening. 

Dearest Gertrude,

I was disappointed that my latest request has gone unanswered. I’m worried you’re falling out of touch my dear. Do take care, I would hate if anything was to happen to that dear library of yours. 

Yours,  
Jonah

The building was much more elegant than he imagined. When John thought of a brothel, he imagined a flamboyant, colorful building bustling with attractive people trying to lure customers in. Instead it blended in with the other buildings on either side of the street corner. Discrete as it was on the outside, the interior was covered in lavish green velvet. Attractive figures draped themselves on lounges and flirted with customers in hushed tones. 

John didn't bother shaking the water off of him when he pushed through the doors. He didn't spare a single glance towards the scantily dressed sex workers lining the walls. He didn't attempt any pleasantries when the woman at the front desk forced a smile his way.  
"I'm going to speak to the owner of this establishment." A trail of water followed him and a small puddle formed around his feet.   
“Excuse me sir, but do you have an appointment with Mister Bouchard.”   
Oh, not a madam then?   
“Well, is there any way I can make one?” He tried to lower his voice now, feeling acutely aware of his current place and disposition.   
The woman’s smile looked even more forced, “Sir, we are going to have to ask you to leave.”   
John considered his angles, it’s not like he was going to be able to waltz in again and have a better chance. He could possibly outrun this woman, make it to the staircase and lock himself into a room. But which one? It’s not as if there was a lit and labeled door advertising “yes the evidence you're looking for is here to lock up the person who killed your mentor and destroyed your livelihood so you may reclaim the money and rebuild a new library even though countless irreplaceable books have already gone up in ash.” 

Jonathan froze. He stared at the woman at the desk, the woman frantically scanned the room for someone to come and remove this crazed disruptive man from her lobby.   
“Rosie, this is no way to treat a guest.”  
“Of course Mr. Bouchard.”   
John offered no response, more focused on the hand gripping his tensed shoulder. He attempted to shove the foreign touch away but the hand only asserted a tighter hold. 

“You seem to be troubled, why don’t you follow me.”   
John followed this Mr. Bouchard, up the stairs and down a hall to an ornate office.   
“My name is Elias Bouchard, owner of The Magnus.” Instead of offering him a handshake, Elias handed John a warm towel.   
"Jonathan Sims," he responded.  
John took the towel after removing his glasses, setting them on the end table. He dried his face and ruffled his hair to prevent any further dripping.   
"I'm looking for information on an individual named Jonah who may frequent this establishment."  
The older man quirked his brow, "unfortunately I am unable to give information on clients," he smiles, "we take pride in our confidentiality."

John placed the towel aside and put his glasses back on. This was his only lead, he refused to let it be a dead end. “I don’t need Jonah’s home address, if I could just meet him or maybe even have a vague description.” Anything that could lead him one step closer to finding the arsonist(s)/murderer(s).   
Elias scanned him. "You're not bad looking by any means."  
"Beg your pardon?"   
"We can make a deal, I can give you some answers about this Jonah fellow you're after if you're willing to work for me."  
"Absolutely not, I refuse to let a single person touch me.” John recoiled, instinctively shirking back to increase the distance between himself and Mr. Bouchard.   
"What if I promised not a single person would lay hands on you?"  
“How? I suppose I could clean rooms,” he noted a few men and women donning maid outfits, but not ones suitable for actual labor. Maybe he could wash dishes since the place offered some form of catering.   
“You’ll service clients in a unique way, tailored to your specific,” Elias paused, eying John head to toe once more, “disposition.” 

______________________________________________________  
John was fitted with a flattering suit accentuating the sharp angles of his body. For the first time in life, make up was applied to his face. Another woman with curly hair and round glasses, brushed his hair tying it back into a neat ponytail. He was led out of the room by a taller, muscular man with a cocky smile and ridiculous moustache to another door labeled with something too faded to read in the dim lighting. 

In the room there was a broad older man, kneeling on the floor looking up at him expectantly. He seemed nervous, and meek despite having a frame that could easily overpower John.   
The room resembled a luxurious study, decorated with fresh flowers and tasteful curtains. Save for the table presenting a small case containing a whip, riding crop, and wooden paddle. The whip felt too severe and the paddle had a short reach. He picked up the riding crop and stared down at the stranger.   
He was instructed to inflict pain on this man. As much pain as he felt the stranger deserved, until the words “red” or “yellow” were called out. “Red” would mean to stop everything immediately; “yellow” to slow down and discuss. 

The man crawled on the floor towards him, reaching a timid hand forward that almost touched his ankle. 

John's face burned red. He swung the crop down on the man striking him across his wrist.   
“Absolutely not,” he spat “get your hand away from me.”

"Of course, sir," the strange man huffed, "I'm garbage, worse than trash. I have no right to touch you" 

That’s an unusual response, John cleared his throat before continuing the charade. "Disgusting, I can't believe I'm even wasting effort hitting you? Are you getting off on this?"

John was taken aback by the clear erection in the man's boxers. His question was genuine. How could someone actually enjoy this? His words held no affection, he wasn't necessarily doing anything sexy. His uniform was well tailored but by no means revealing. Barely a formal step up from what he used to wear stacking books and guiding people to the fiction section.   
The stranger groveled at his feet, John looked around the room and spotted a bookshelf.   
Perfect.   
He pointed the riding crop at the wall, “over there, fetch me that azure bound book on the top shelf.”   
The man nodded, rising to his feet, until he was cut off by a sharp whip to his calf.   
“No, crawl, like the pig you are.”   
John watched the client struggle to reach the top shelf still on his knees, how satisfying. He crawled back over, book loosely fitted between his lips. John knelt down, resting the top of the crop on the man’s head, a threat and a promise, while carefully removing the book without making any contact with the client's skin. It was clear the man had been careful to keep his lips folded to prevent any saliva from making contact with the hardback, but a small wet droplet stood out against the canvas. John pressed the crop harder to tilt the man’s head down to eye level with the stain. “What is this?”   
“A mistake, s-sir.”   
“And what happens when you make a mistake?” John truly wanted to know. Was the riding crop getting repetitive?  
“Lashings, sir.”   
“So be it.”   
Over and over again, John struck the man across his thighs and back at every slight indiscretion. He hated how savage he felt, but the terror in the man's eyes was addicting. He attempted to keep track of the blows, but lost count over the large man’s howls. It wasn’t until John noticed signs of skin breaking did he relent.   
“That will be enough, come, wait here.” He gestured in front of a lounge chair, the client obeyed. John sat down, admiring the red streaks lining the man’s back, the client’s knees trembled, it must be awfully trying to stay in that position, even on a plush rug. “If you can behave long enough, maybe I can actually get somewhere in my book.”   
John kicked his feet up pressing his heels into the man’s back. Watching his legs and arms give just a little bit more with the added weight. He was daring the man to collapse, but he held firm and John actually had time to complete the first few chapters, forward included before a knock rang on the door. 

“Mr. Montauk, your time is up.” 

John got up, carefully removing his legs from the stranger’s back. The knock had broken a trance, reminding him that he was just using a person as a piece of furniture. His face flushed with horror, but the man stood on his own and began to redress. Shooting a content look with a small nod that sent a shiver down John’s spine. Wide eyed, he walked straight to the door with a stiffer posture than usual, keeping his gaze away from the person he had just brutalized.   
On the other side was the woman with curly hair and round glasses again.   
“Oh, you’re the new guy, how did it go?”   
“I, uhm.”   
“Sorry, I guess that may be a bit personal, I’m Sasha by the way, I look forward to working with you.”   
She had an earnest air around her, soft features, that reminded John of the patrons he used to see at the library. Did she ever visit his old workplace?   
“If you’d like to follow me to the lobby, you’re welcome to mingle with the rest of us until close. Mr. Bouchard will meet with you and explain the rest from there.”  
____________________________________________________________  
Instead, John clinged to the walls, avoiding eye contact with his new coworkers and patrons alike.  
John watched the man leave the establishment, giving pleasantries to Rosie on the way out. He was positively glowing and shot John a wink on the way out. John forced a thin smile back, masking his repulsion to the best of his ability. 

Elias approached him, sometime later. Many of the other workers had cleared out, only a few lingered in the lobby engaging in idle talk amongst themselves.   
"Fantastic work today Mr. Sims, your technique will make a wonderful addition to our cast."  
"Is this really sex work? All I did was hit him until Sasha stopped me."  
"Tut-tut, no need to be so modest, we cater to fulfill every client's distinctive itch, and you seem to scratch nicely," John grimaced, Elias continued, "if you find this unsatisfactory we could always put you in a more intimate position."  
"No thank you this one suits me fine," John snapped back. His new boss appeared to revel in getting under his skin.   
Elias let the silence sink in for a moment.  
"Now about your room and board. You will lodge here, a small fee will be deducted from your pay, nothing too egregious of course, your new flatmate has already moved your belongings to your room."   
John answered with continued silence, as, again, he followed Elias up the stairs and down a hall. He hadn't even thought of sleep since the library burned down, it was very fortunate that The Magnus offered such generous accommodations, let alone set things up already. The only worry would be his new flatmate, they could easily be working with the one who burned down the library, spying on him, if not the very culprit themselves. John would have to keep his guard up around this new threat.   
Elias stopped at a plain door before knocking.   
A small voice returned, "come in!" The door opened to reveal a larger man dressed in a   
cozy sweater, he had a soft mop of hair accompanied by an assortment of freckles. Surely not one John would peg for sex work. Neither a buxomed seductress or athletic Adonis. Then again, neither was he.   
"Jonathan Sims, please meet Martin Blackwood."


End file.
